The Weight Of Us
by sanguis in aeternum
Summary: "We the mortals touch the metals, the wind, the ocean shores, the stones, knowing they will go on, inert or burning, and I was discovering, naming all the these things: it was my destiny to love and say goodbye." AU prequel to "The Caster Chronicles." (Macon/Lila)
1. Authors Note

**Title:** The Weight Of Us  
**Characters/Pairing: **Macon Ravenwood/Lila Jane Evers  
**Rating: **PG13-R (to be safe)  
**Warnings: **some bad language, dark themes, violence, mentions of past child abuse, sexual situations (non explicit).  
**Summary: **"We the mortals touch the metals, the wind, the ocean shores, the stones, knowing they will go on, inert or burning, and I was discovering, naming all the these things: it was my destiny to love and say goodbye." AU prequel to "The Caster Chronicles." (Macon/Lila)

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**_* Artwork: _**I created a tumblr dedicated to this fanfiction. I will be posting edits/fanmixes/etc so definitely check it out! I'll put a link in my profile :)

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_Warning:_ This is going to be a mash up between book cannon and movie cannon. The majority of this fanfiction will follow book cannon, the only real noticeable difference is the character of Amma. I will be using movie!Amma in this story (meaning there will be _no_ Marian).

**Info on Amma's character (as she will be portrayed in this story)**

Amma is Lila Jane's best friend and they've known each other almost all their lives.

Amma (unbeknownst to her) will eventual take her mother's place as keeper, as has been the case for centuries in their family.

She is a seer (along with her mother and grandmother), although, her abilities are not completely developed yet.

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_Additional information:_

**Brief back story on Macon's childhood **

Macon was a little over a year old (making Hunting about 4 months old) when his mother, still pregnant with his sister, left Ravenwood Manor.

The two boys were left behind with their incredibly cruel and abusive father.

Very soon afterwards Silas married Emmaline Duchannes.

She bore him two daughters.

Life was infinitely better for Macon and Hunting in the few years Emmaline stayed with them. But, fed up with Silas and his sinister nature, Emmaline divorced him and moved away with her two children.

Silas' mistreatment of his sons became more severe in the following years, often calling on their 'grandfather', Abraham, for assistance in _teaching_ his boys.

Unless permitted by their father they were never allowed to leave the house, never allowed outside contact.

Both Macon and Hunting stayed in touch with their mother and Leah throughout the years and would visit them occasionally.

When Leah was older she would also make visits to Ravenwood to see her brothers.

Hunting had little interest in interacting with Emmaline or her children but Macon held a cordial relationship with his previous step mother and remained very close with his half sisters, particularly, his youngest sister, Izabel (Sarafine).

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_Character ages:_

Macon – 18 years old

Hunting – 17 years old

Leah – 16 years old

Delphine – 16 years old

Izabel (Sarafine) – 14 years old (almost 15)

Lila Jane – 17 years old

Amma – 17 years old

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_The quote used in the summary is from "Still Another Day" by Pablo Neruda._


	2. Chapter 1

**Macon**

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Macon could not sleep.

This was far from uncommon.

He'd always suffered from a bit of insomnia.

His mind too hyper vigilant to _let go _enough for his body to just, relax.

It wasn't unusual for him to go days, weeks, without sleeping. Taxing himself far past what a human constitution could handle. Or even a Caster.

He, of course, was neither of those things.

_Not human._

Even nature — it would seem — could not let him forget that fact.

The noises in his room were particularly loud tonight. The rain beating down on the roof of Ravenwood was an incessant pounding in his head.

Storms like this usual reminded him of Izabel, or as he'd called her since before she could walk "Ibbie".

The nickname was something she used to find endearing but now took any and every opportunity to remind him that she was — in fact — not five years old anymore.

His sister could cause the heavens to open up when she was in a foul mood.

When he was younger, during particularly bad storms in hurricane season, he'd sometimes joke with Hunting that, "Little sister must be having a tantrum somewhere."

Tonight the rain did not make him think of Izabel.

It did not make him think of anything, except how unbelievably _loud_ and distracting it was, forcing his beyond fatigued mind to stay alert.

He could hear the _tick, tick, tick_ of the grandfather clock down the hallway, the steady cadence of Hunting's footsteps in the rooms below.

His brother would have never walked the halls so brazenly if their father were there.

It'd been nearly four months since Silas Ravenwood had left on one of his, increasingly, frequent 'business' trips with their Grandfather; leaving Ravenwood Manor _temporarily _in Macon's care.

The rooms of the Manor were far less suffocating in his father's absence, but no less restricting.

He felt like some kind of abused animal that had been placed back in its cage, finally free of its tormentor, only to realize the bars of its prison were wrapped in electrical wire.

_Ravenwood is a Dark place of power, Melchizedek._

It didn't matter that his father had been gone for months, Silas lived in every room, every wall, every crack and crevice in this house.

He lived in the lining of Macon's skin.

_We are dark creatures. Some day you will understand what that means._

Macon clenched his eyes shut tightly and concentrated on controlling his breathing. It was a technique Emmaline had taught him when his abilities as an Incubus had started to become…overwhelming.

"Breathe. Center yourself. _Control_ it." She would have said.

A soft wining sound had him opening his eyes suddenly and glancing to the right, Boo stood beside his bed, the dogs warm brown eyes watching Macon intently.

Again, Boo made the same quiet wine, stepping forward slightly and resting his large head atop Macon's dark comforter.

He reached a hand out from under the blankets to scratch behind Boo's ears, "It is alright, Old boy." He couldn't help smiling a little at the dogs, seemingly, disbelieving huff.

"Just a bit overtired is all."

He felt, as he always did, a silent understanding pass between them, and allowed himself to take comfort in his old friend's steady presence.

The sound of Boo's quiet breathing was soothing.

It was a sharp contrast to the unpleasant, repetitive noises that had been making his mind race before.

He rolled onto his side, resettling himself against the mattress, his left foot sliding from beneath the blankets to hang off the edge of his bed.

It was pointless.

He felt like he was somehow both freezing and on fire, simultaneously. His skin was itching with the sensation to move_ — get up._

He growled in frustration and threw the blankets off of him, his hand groping blindly for one of the many books haphazardly piled on his bedside table.

He heard the clinking sound of Boo's claws against the floorboards as the dog retreated to the other side of the room. Macon knew without looking that Boo was settling himself on the floor in front of the bedroom door.

Boo would stay there all night.

He always did.

Macon looked down to the novel he held in his hand — _Great Expectations._

He made no motion to turn on the lights. There was no need.

He saw much better with them off, to be honest. He could see every detail of the room clearly.

Turning back the worn book cover he flipped to the first page,

_My father's family name being Pirrip, and my Christian name Philip, my infant tongue could make of both names nothing longer or more explicit than Pip. So I called myself Pip, and came to be called Pip._

Sleep would not come tonight.


	3. Chapter 2

**Lila Jane**

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"I still don't understand why you wanted to come _here_? I mean, the whole point of putting off college until the fall is to _enjoy_ ourselves, right?"

Amma had been jabbering on none stop since Lila's mother had dropped her off. Apparently, people didn't voluntarily choose to spend the summer in Gatlin County.

"You do realize we'll be sitting in this room staring at each other for the next three months, don't you? I told you it'd be better for me to come to Savannah, didn't I? Not like you listen to a word I say anyway!" Amma paused in her tirade and looked to Lila in irritation, "You're not even listening to me right now, are you?!"

Lila was too busy trying to pry open the zipper that ran down the side of her battered old suitcase to answer.

It had been a gift from her Mamie in the 3rd grade.

It was an _obnoxiously_ bright colored pink with multicolored flowers stuck all over the front. On the back her Mamie had stitched on four letters to spell out the name _JANE_.

It was her middle name, but Mamie had never called her anything else.

The suitcase was frayed and torn in places but she couldn't bear to part with it.

"Lila Jane Evers!" Amma had a gift for the dramatic; it was a trait she shared with her Grandmother.

Grandma Treadeau could make you cower and confess every bad thing you'd ever done, or even thought about doing, with just a look.

"I'm not ignoring you, Amma! I'm just —" Lila grunted and pulled at the decrepit zipper as hard as she could, grinning in triumph when the suitcase finally popped open. "Uh, thank god. Look, it's been ages since I've spent any time here."

And it had been.

She and Amma had met through Amma's great-aunt who'd, as Amma always said, 'gotten out' of Gatlin when she married a man from Georgia.

Savannah, Georgia, that is.

Amma's great-aunt and uncle had lived three houses down from Lila's.

When Lila was five years old she was set up on an unfortunate play date with one Amarie Treadeau.

They'd hated each other at first.

Lila used to think it was because they were so different. But, in all truthfulness, it was probably because of how similar they were.

Loud. Opinionated. Passionate, to a fault maybe.

It's something that still caused them to butt heads, on occasion.

All Lila knows is that she'd somehow gone from dreading Amma's visits every summer, to marking the days off on her calendar.

When Amma's aunt and uncle passed away Lila had promised her they'd still see each other. They wrote letters throughout the school year, and every summer Amma would spend two weeks in Savannah.

Lila had only come to Gatlin once.

It was the weekend after her Mamie's funeral, and her mother was too sad, too scattered, to deal with her daughters' grief on top of her own.

Caroline had been sent off to their Aunt Rebecca's, and Lila had come here.

She'd been in Gatlin for a grand total of five days, which was all it had taken for her to fall _completely_ in love with Amma's family.

"I just needed some time away, Amma."

"Yes, OK. But couldn't away have meant New Orleans? Or something?" Amma was smiling at her now, crossing the room to take Lila's suitcase and tossing it onto her bed. "Do you even have any clothes in this?"

Alright, so _maybe_ she'd gone a little overboard with the books she'd packed.

Rolling her eyes, Lila lifted one of the books that lined the top of her suitcase, revealing the neatly folded clothes underneath. The novel she'd picked up was old and worn.

_To Kill A Mocking Bird_.

It had definitely seen better days. She placed the well loved paperback on her friend's little bureau.

Amma's bedroom was small.

It was just barely big enough for a single sized bed and a dresser.

The walls were painted a light green, and there were long, powder blue curtains hanging over the only window. Her bedspread was an ivory-white, accented by various brightly colored pillows. The bed frame was made of some kind of copper, and there were intricate markings scratched into the sides of it.

Lila knew Amma's family well enough to know the marks probably weren't there accidentally.

There were things like that all over Amma's house.

Assorted charms and totems hung over doorways, strange spices and trinkets kept in glass jars in the cupboard.

It was just a part of who Amma was.

Lila had never been particularly religious, but she was open minded enough that when Amma's mother gave her a little spice filled baggy and told her to '_sleep with it under her mattress'_… she'd put the damn thing under her mattress.

"We'll go to New Orleans next summer, Ams. I promise." Lila flashed Amma her best 'charm mom into letting me stay out past curfew' smile.

"Ha! Don't you bat those doe eyes of yours at me, Lila Jane! I'll hold you to that!"

She could _never_ pull anything over on Amma.

She always knew when Lila wasn't being completely forthright about something; it was actually a little unsettling how intuitive she could be about things sometimes.

Lila held her hand, pinky finger outstretched, towards her friend, "I promise, OK? Next summer we'll go somewhere… New York or New Orleans, whatever you want. I just need some quiet, stress free time in a place that is _not_ Savannah. Savannah bad, away from Savannah good."

Amma linked her own pinky around Lila's and squeezed, "Alright, fine... You'll definitely get quiet here. We have a lot of quiet in Gatlin, that's for sure."

That sounded perfect to Lila.

Sleeping in.

Hanging out with Mrs. Treadeau at the library.

Talking and laughing with Amma.

Grandma Treadeau's coconut pie.

It was, no doubt, the last chance they'd have for some down time. They were both enrolled to start classes at Duke University in the fall, and Amma wanted to spend the last of their free time in Savannah?

Lila shuttered at the thought.

She honestly wasn't sure how much more of her mother's passive aggressive nagging, or her sister's 'melodrama of the week', she could have handled. The last thing she needed was more angst in her life.

Yes, quiet was good. She could do quiet.

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**A/N:** Just FYI, this story is set in 1983 (The only reference to Lila's age I could find was in the movie. Her headstone says she was born on December 19th, 1966)


	4. Chapter 3

**Macon**

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_…having issues finding a place for her._

_…wouldn't have come to you with this if there were any other options._

_…you've always been so very dear to her._

Macon read through Emmaline's letter several times.

'Finding a place for her' implied that, presently, she had no place.

He wrinkled his nose in distaste. He did not like the insinuation.

Izabel would _always_ have a place with Macon, and there was no question to what his answer would be.

"What's that?"

He looked up from Emmaline's elegant scrawl to find his brother standing in the doorway of their father's study. Macon had been so immersed in the letter he hadn't even heard him come up from the tunnels.

"It's from Emmaline."

Hunting raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to elaborate.

"— she wants Izabel to stay with us."

His brother crossed the room to where Macon was sitting at the dining room table, "Until her Claiming? I thought she was staying with her Grandmother?"

Macon glanced back down to the letter he still held in his hands, skimming over the lines '_there have been some accidents'._

"She…was. She's not anymore."

Hunting, unceremoniously, slumped into the seat beside Macon's, "I don't know, M. That's a lot to take on." He leaned his chair backwards, lifting the front two legs off the ground, "What about father?"

Macon narrowed his eyes a little, "That may be, but she has to go somewhere. Father's never had any issue with Izabel staying here. You know that."

The legs of Hunting's chair lowered back to the floor with a _smack,_ "Not that we've heard from him in months or anything." There was an underlying bitterness to his tone.

"Are you _honestly_ anxious for him to come back?" Macon couldn't stop the dubious expression that crossed his face. He tilted his head and studied his brother, carefully.

"No, Macon. It's just the principle of the thing. Never mind — look, I don't care if the kid stays here. It's fine with me." His brother's hands were gesturing enthusiastically now. Privately, Macon had always seen this as Hunting trying to _redirect_ your attention when he didn't want to discuss something.

"Good, that's good. It would not be until after her 15th birthday."

"Exceptional. _Kitchen!" _A small, silver bowl full of crescent moon shaped, cinnamon candies appeared on the table before them_. _Hunting popped a few into his mouth, pouring the rest into the pocket of his charcoal grey overcoat.

Macon did a double take, "Are you wearing my coat?"

Hunting looked down at himself, feigning shock, "Oh my. It would appear so, brother." He raised his chair back up again, placing his dirt encrusted, booted feet up onto the table, "You know how cold it can get in the tunnels."

Macon felt his eye twitch, "Feet. Off."

Hunting smirked at him, but lowered his feet to the ground and stood.

"You need to lighten up, M." He paused suddenly, his eyes hardening, "You, M'dear brother, look like absolute shit."

Macon gave a surprised bark of laughter, "Thank you kindly, little brother."

"I'm serious. Have you not been sleeping well again?"

Macon ran his fingers through his hair, "Well enough."

"…Right. You know if there's ever anything —"

"Of course." He smiled softly at his brother; trying to convey the message '_please_ _drop it' _as much as possible.

Shaking his head, Hunting walked back towards their father's study. "I'll be home in a few hours. I still have some errands to run."

"Nothing — disreputable, I hope."

"Ha-ha, your wit astounds me, Macon." Hunting traveled out of the room for a moment, reappearing seconds later with a small book in his hand, "I just came back for this. I'm going to the Caster Library."

His brother tucked the book into one of the overcoats large pockets. Smirking condescendingly, he laid his hands on the coats collar, popping the lapels, "Do you mind?"

Macon waved his hand dismissively at him, smiling, despite himself, at the sound of his brother's laughter. The distinct sound of a key turning in a lock echoed through the large dining hall, and then Hunting was gone.

The air in the room felt stifling in his absence.

Macon ran his hands across the table, smoothing out the wrinkles Hunting had left in the expansive tablecloth.

It was a deep red.

Actually, the whole house had a touch of crimson to it tonight. Macon wasn't sure if it was Hunting, or himself, that had caused that. He struggled to remember something that Izabel had told him once — something about — colors and symbolism?

_People see red as representing the bad stuff. Like fire and blood. But, you know, I read in a book that it means courage, or something. That's why so many Mortals put it on their flags and all that._

Macon sighed.

Izabel... She would turn sixteen in thirteen months.

Hadn't they just gone through this with Delphine? He didn't know if he could handle the strain of it all over again.

It would be even harder this time around.

He had not lived with Delphine. He didn't have to look into her eyes everyday knowing that come her sixteenth birthday her _will_ would be taken from her. That she could become something unrecognizable.

_That's a lot to take on._ Hunting had said.

Macon felt something ominous flicker in his chest.

He glanced, solemnly, to the chair his brother had just vacated. He suddenly wished he'd gone along with him.

_The Lunae Libri. _

It was a place he visited often.

Kallianne Treadeau, the Keeper, was pleasant enough, and she never objected to his sporadic visits up to the Gatlin County Library.

It was the only place in this _unfortunate_ town that he could stomach.

That could, perhaps, be attributed to the shortage of actual Gatlin County citizens in attendance there. Heaven forbid they pollute their minds with the written word. The townspeople of Gatlin were so small-minded and… shortsighted.

Macon resented it. He resented them.

Izabel would have told him to stop being biggety.

He laid Emmaline's letter flat on the table in front of him.

_…having issues finding a place for her._

**No place. **

Macon could hear his father's voice in his head, his words slurred from too much whiskey. He could feel the phantom ache of broken fingers, and taste the blood in his mouth.

_Useless, idiot boy. Can't even follow a simple instruction, can you? What use are you to me?_

He turned to the back side of the letter, pulled a pen from his waistcoat pocket, and wrote a straightforward reply.

_Of course._

With a simple cast the letter began to dissolve, and then disappeared completely.

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**Hate it? Love it? Any feedback is much appreciated!**


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